


He's Making a List

by Annie D (scaramouche)



Series: John McClane is an Asshole [4]
Category: Live Free or Die Hard (2007)
Genre: Flirting, Humor, M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-09
Updated: 2010-02-09
Packaged: 2017-10-07 03:49:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scaramouche/pseuds/Annie%20D
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John attempts official courtship of Matt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He's Making a List

The last time John went on a proper date was in the late 90’s, just a few years after clearing the rubble in the wake of Hurricane Holly.

Oh, John’s been interested in plenty of people since then, but after the first couple of tries, the dating scene just didn’t seem worth it. It was just too much effort, and the people that reciprocated John’s attraction had expectations he didn’t care for – the Dangerous Livin’ Cop, the Burned-Out Cop, the Cop Who Just Needed Some Tender Loving Care – which, what _the fuck_ ever.

Shortcuts were easier, to the point, and required less clean-up after.

So when it comes to the dating scene John’s the first to admit that he’s out of practice, but he figures that no matter how the world may have evolved since then, the rituals of the date have pretty much been in stasis since the late nineteenth century.

(John won’t say so aloud to Matt, because there’s only so many jokes one can take about his age before it gets old. Haha. _Old._)

The only thing of concern is that the target in John’s crosshairs speaks and lives a completely different era.

But that’s a small hurdle, considering all the things that John’s had to facedown over the years.

“The fuck is that?” Matt asks, head cocked at a curious, disbelieving angle.

“They’re flowers, dumbass,” John answers. “You don’t have hay fever, so quit looking at ‘em like that.”

“I don’t – how do you know I don’t have hay fever?” Matt narrows his eyes suspiciously.

“Detective,” John says, pointing a confident thumb towards himself.

He’s had that information since Matt had brought it up in one of his rambling monologues (... _your place is in dire need of some good feng shui, dude, don’t look at me, I _like_ having some green around, never had any problems with hay fever, but I suck at keeping them alive…_), one among thousands John’s had to listen to over the past couple of months. Lucky for him, John’s mind is a steel trap.

“The polite thing to do, Matt, is to _take_ them,” John says, when Matt still hasn’t moved. “Stick ‘em in a vase, a bowl, a salad, whatever you want – but you got to take them first.”

Matt does, albeit gingerly, like he expects them to explode – which, if they do, would be a new one for John. “Uh…”

“Say thank you, Matt.”

“Thank you – no, wait. What? Why?” Matt’s doing that really stupid confused face he gets when he doesn’t know what John’s on about, and it is honest-to-god doing funny things to John’s chest.

“This is the part where I declare myself,” John says. He turns slowly, making a show of taking in the cramped space of Matt’s apartment. “Since you don’t have any parents, I guess I’ll have to cut out the middle man. Matt.”

“What?” Matt jumps, as if there’s anyone else John can possibly be talking to right now.

“I have intentions towards you,” John says. Man, he deserves a fucking Oscar for keeping a straight face right now. “They’re mostly honorable, but eventually I would like to get in your pants. Not tonight, or any time soon, but one day, whenever you decide. Hey, I figured, honesty’s the best policy, right? Since you practically reamed me out the last time.”

Matt bristles, which is a much more familiar reaction. “That’s because it came out of _nowhere_.”

“If you say so,” John says easily.

“Don’t—” But Matt stops himself, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.

John’s been around the block long enough to know himself, and he can’t be fucked to care that he wants Matt, a guy half his age and a galaxy away, because Matt’s a _good_ guy, he’s _that_ guy. He’s the one who has not thrown John out on his ass despite everything John is and has shown him over the unexpected past couple of months they’ve spent in close proximity.

First impressions can be deceiving, true enough. John never would’ve expected that there was a friendship to be had with this skinny little kid in washed-out shirts, let alone anything _more_.

John also knows himself well enough to be aware that there’s no good that can possibly come out of ignoring the deep sated want – nonsensical as it may be – that he feels every time he looks at Matt now.

Denial never got anyone anywhere.

Telling John that he can’t do something – or _have_ something – never got anyone anywhere either.

“You got me flowers,” Matt says, staring at the bouquet.

It occurs to John then that Matt could take it the wrong way – that this is John casting him as the girl, which he _really isn’t_.

But then Matt’s face goes carefully blank and he casts an open palm out imperiously. “Where’s my chocolate?”

John retaliates with a poker face of his own, even as he lifts out a small plastic box tucked into the back of his jeans and offers it forward.

Matt’s nostrils flare from the effort of keeping his face unchanged, but he takes the gift. There’s a moment of uncertainty where Matt can’t seem to decide what to do next, and then he’s turning away, presumably to put the flowers somewhere acceptable. As he wanders off, John just barely catches him muttering, “Motherfucker…”

John’s grinning as he trails after Matt.

As he follows, his eyes linger on Matt’s shoulders. He’s still tense, but at least he’s not _fight-or-flight _poised.

Back still to him, Matt says, “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“Am I?” John thinks.

Matt turns to slant a look at him from under his ridiculous bangs, and Jesus _fuck_, there it is again – that slow slide of heat into John’s lower belly. It’s still new enough to be shocking and throw John just that much off-balance, and it’s just plain laughable that Matt _doesn’t know_.

John had been _so sure_. He wouldn’t have made a move otherwise.

How can Matt not know what it means when he smiles at John with open affection in his eyes, lacking any sort of self-consciousness even when John meets that gaze straight on. Matt does it so often, and so _openly_.

Friends don’t let friends eye-fuck.

Not without consequences, anyway.

That’s not even starting on how tactile Matt is, always probing into John’s personal space like it’s an accomplishment (which it is). There’s always little touches here and there, like Matt has a point to prove, so where does he get off being all shocked when John reciprocates?

He doesn’t do so now, because Matt’s still on edge.

“I think that covers the basics,” he says, still a safe distance away.

Matt sighs. “You’re supposed to—”

“Would you like to go out for dinner with me, Matt?” John asks, point blank, before Matt can get to the point that was coming.

Matt freezes, eyes gone wide.

John knows why; it’s because up until this exact moment Matt’s never been the recipient of a full blast of the McClane charm. Oh, he’s felt it in small, tolerable samples – a smirk here, a glance there – but this is all out, honest and _burning_. John knows _exactly_ what he’s doing, and he keeps at it until Matt’s face goes wobbly and he has to look away.

“I don’t know,” Matt says carefully, like he doesn’t quite trust his tongue at the moment. “Seems a little sudden.”

John raises an eyebrow at him, and then opens his mouth. “I _see_ the bad moon _rising_, I _see_ trouble on the way—”

“Hey, hey,_ hey_!” Matt’s laughing, doubling over a little as he waves frantically for John to stop.

Matt’s face is a sight to behold, and John just smiles right back at him, enjoying how that grin grows and settles comfortably.

“Okay,” Matt says, nodding at him, eyes bright and crinkling at the edges. “Yeah, we can do that.”

“So…” John lets his eyes travel the distance of the room in an easy tease. “If you’re free tonight…”

Matt laughs again – one hand reaches out, but quickly draws back, like he isn’t sure if his touch is welcome anymore. John doesn’t react, and just stands there with his hands in his pockets to let Matt set the boundaries here. Matt looks a little confident at John’s reaction, and raises his chin.

“Better be somewhere nice,” he says. “I had _plans_ for dinner tonight.”

“Mine are better,” John says frankly. He backs up a little to grab Matt’s jacket from the arm of the couch and tossing it at him. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Matt shakes his head as he pulls the jacket on. “Smooth, McClane. Real smooth.”


End file.
